Season of Glory

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  Niero’s dark eyes twinkled, and his lips twitched with a smile. “I think I’ll let you discover that yourselves.”

  We finally reached the dining hall, and I took a deep breath, appreciating the cavernous space after the cramped nature of the hallway. Before us were lines of tables and benches and people already busily helping themselves from platters full of food. My eyes widened as I noted chunks of meat on each platter, which people were merrily slicing and serving to others at their tables. By the color and texture, I knew it wasn’t mudhorse. And we hadn’t had meat in the Community since we arrived home. It was a rare treat before; with so many people here now, it seemed impossible.

  We made our way to the front of the room, where we’d become accustomed to eating alongside the elders, all dressed in white. My eyes fell greedily upon the quickly disappearing meat at the center of the table, and my stomach rumbled. It smelled delicious. “Venison?” I asked, finally putting a name to what I’d seen and eaten only once, with Chaza’el’s people north of Pacifica.

  “Yes,” Niero said, eyes sparkling. “Our visitors brought it with them—along with an entire herd of deer. Zulema and her grandson are now discussing with Dagan how they shall encourage breeding and expansion of the herd.” He inclined his head toward a table to our right, and I saw the farmer and goatherds excitedly talking while busily stuffing their mouths with food. We also had rice on our table—a rarity we’d only periodically had access to. But we’d learned that Dagan had planted seeds upon his arrival, taking advantage of the last of Harvest’s warmth and our wetlands to coax a small crop before snow fell. I let the kernels shift in my mouth before chewing, enjoying the nutty taste.

  Vidar and Bellona joined us across the table, and he hooted, eyes wide, as he discovered what was before us. When Niero shared the news with them too, as Ronan cut them both a generous slice, Vidar said, “Who are these newcomers? I believe I must kiss them all on the mouth.”

  “Not that they’d appreciate that,” Bellona said, shoving a bite between her lips.

  “I don’t know if you can judge such things. You’ve never kissed me,” he said, pretending hurt. “Your own bound husband.”

  “Nor shall I ever.”

  “So you say, now. I keep telling you that our handfasting could be so much more.”

  “Vidar,” she growled.

  Ronan squeezed my knee under the table, and I shared an intimate smile with him. As much as Bellona and Vidar were bound for protection only, our own promise held the hope of so much more. I couldn’t wait for the day when I could give myself to him, holding nothing back. But both of us wanted to wait. To honor the Community’s customs and the elders’ request that we remain chaste.

  Just five seasons away, I thought wistfully, with an inward sigh. I inhaled and caught the scent of Ronan, all clean soap and pine and leather. That’s not helping, Dri, I told myself, forcing my thoughts to other things.

  We had a war to win first. A war to survive. I looked around the table at all the faces I loved most—every one of the Remnants, the Knights, the elders, and at the far end, my parents. If any of them died …

  That thought snapped me out of any romantic notions.

  My eyes slipped back to Keallach, in halting, uneasy conversation with his brother. They were making headway together, but it was painfully slow and awkward. And I didn’t blame Kapriel for his caution. As loving and giving as he was inclined to be, his twin had hurt him in horrific ways. Had robbed him of his parents. His throne. His future.

  But Keallach was trying so hard. And his total breakdown in the hallway that pivotal day seemed to signal the turning tide or the beginning of something much bigger.

  Moreover, it was their mirrored emotion that made me think that the twins might eventually find their way back to each other. Hope peeked out from behind the shadowy curtains of fear. That was the chief emotion I sensed from both of them, and that built hope within me too.

  A commotion at the entrance gradually drew the attention of everyone in the hall. Eight large men, looking larger in their fur vests, entered the room in pairs. In the back was a couple I didn’t know, about my parents’ own age.

  “Dri,” Ronan said, voice strangled, half rising. “Dri.”

  My eyes focused on the first man’s face. The beard had made me pass him over on my first glance, but there was no hiding his identity the second time I saw him. I let out a cry and scrambled off the bench, rounding the table and hurtling myself down the aisle, launching myself into his arms, laughing, laughing so hard I was crying.

  He’d bent, arms open, and lifted me, turning me around in a circle as I kissed his cheek and he kissed mine.

  It was our trainer.

  The man responsible for preparing Ronan and me for all we’d endured and encountered. The man responsible for saving our lives, time and time again.

  Ronan grinned and clasped arms with him, but then moved past him. Puzzled, I watched as he went to the couple at the end of the line. The woman put her hand to her mouth, and her eyes streamed with tears.

  “His parents,” my trainer said, nodding after him. His arm was draped around my shoulders, warm and reassuring, and his joy equaled mine. After my parents and Ronan, and now the Ailith, there was no one more important to me than this man. And I’d been so afraid he’d been killed the night of our Call, the night when our parents and guardians and trainers were supposed to slip away to new communities, in case the Sheolites tracked us to their doors. His arm fell from my shoulders, and he squeezed my hand. “Go to them,” he urged me lowly. “I know you must. There will be time enough for us to catch up.”

  I looked up at his grizzled face. He wasn’t handsome. His skin was pockmarked around the new beard, his hair receding. But he was beautiful to me. Always a perfect mix of challenge and encouragement, sometimes pressing me on when necessary, sometimes holding me close and shoring me up. I couldn’t wait to find out what these last months had been like for him. But he was right—my place was with Ronan. Meeting my new kin. As part of our safety precautions, I’d never met them, and he’d never met mine until the night he came to claim me.

  Feeling unaccountably shy, I eased toward the trio. His father caught sight of me first, and Ronan and his mother parted slightly to welcome me.

  “Mother, Father,” Ronan said proudly, “I’d like you to meet my Remnant, as well as my handfasted bride, Andriana of the Valley.”

  His mother sucked in her breath over his words, then hurriedly smiled, as if embarrassed over what might be perceived as a slight. I knew she couldn’t be truly pleased over our early vows—she hadn’t been here to witness what had necessitated it. So I set it aside as she took my hand in both of hers, raised it to her lips to kiss it, then cupped my cheek. “A daughter,” she breathed. “And so beautiful,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Ronan. “Clearly, you have much to tell us.”

  His father was moving in to greet me too when we heard the first alarm bells. It took a moment to register what we were hearing. Men and women were rising and running to the door before it became clear.

  “Attack!” shouted a man at the door. “Attack! Everyone to their stations!”

  Ronan took my hand and said to his parents and our trainer, now at his elbow, “Follow me!”

  We heard a blast and then felt the repercussion down the passageway as we ran, pausing to reach out and steady ourselves as gravel and dust filtered down around us. Then another blast rang out.

  “They’re trying to destroy the cavern entrance!” Ronan ground out. He paused to put his parents in our room. “As soon as Dri’s parents arrive, close this door and bolt it, understand? It will withstand much,” he said, patting the iron door. All the Remnants had reinforced doors to their rooms, which at first I’d thought was overkill. Now, with the enemy potentially at our door, I thought it exceedingly wise.

  “What about you?” his mother cried, clinging to his hand.

  “We must go to the others,” he said. He pulled her close, ki
ssed both her cheeks, and drew away.

  “We’ll be back,” I found myself promising, even though I knew I had no business doing so. “Our reunion has only just begun,” I added, forcing a grin. Perhaps a lie was what we both needed in the moment.

  “Come, Dri,” Ronan urged, pulling me away.

  “Wait for my parents before you bar the door!” I cried. “They know to come here!”

  His mother and father nodded just as Ronan pulled me around the corner. We met with our trainer in the passage, with the rest of his men hovering over his shoulder. “What is the protocol?” he barked, hearkening me back to countless drills with him in the forest.

  “We are to convene with the other Ailith on the third level.”

  Our trainer turned to his men. “Two of you remain here at the door. See that it is sealed, with all their parents inside, before you leave it. Then go to support those at the Citadel entrance.” He turned back to Ronan. “Lead us on.”

  We ran up circular stairs to the next level, and then the next, pressing our backs to the wall to allow men carrying an injured woman, pierced by bullets to her shoulder and belly, pass us by. Tressa ran after them, with Killian just behind. “We’ll meet you there if we can,” he called over his shoulder.

  As we got nearer to the alcoves that allowed Citadel defenders to fight off attackers, we could hear the thrum of a helicopter—or two?—the constant drum of gunfire, and the dull sound of bullets against stone. My arm cuff sent waves of cold and heat through me. We passed the first alcove and glimpsed men and women hiding behind stone barriers, waiting for the gunfire to abate so they could return fire. I felt their terror and prayed for safety for us all. Maker. Shield us!

  I wanted to curse the helicopters for the unfair advantage they seemed to give our attackers, the insurmountable strength it felt like they leveraged from it.

  In times of stress, rely on what you know to be true, not what you feel, I reminded myself before Niero could when we found him alongside the others. He gave me the slightest nod, clearly approving, and I smiled, feeling ridiculously proud of myself at a moment when I needed to be thinking forward, not back.

  But you are thinking forward, he silently whispered to me. What we learn from the past influences our future.

  Right, I returned, focusing on Keallach and Kapriel, who were laying out a plan on the ground, sketching and taking turns talking. It was wondrous, watching them excitedly work together, their minds seeming to click faster than ours could. Each built upon the other’s last thought, forming a plan of counterattack. I tried to swallow, my mouth dry. I felt the growing silence all around among the Ailith, our trainer and his men, and the few elders who had congregated here so far.

  Because what we were witnessing was what the Maker had clearly ordained.

  Twins, meant to work together. Brothers, meant to rule together.

  Because together, they were stronger. Each at his best.

  Gradually, they came to the end of their planning and became aware of all of us, looking on in silence. I could read them both, so clearly. Keallach looked up and around at each of us, a tad defensive, as if bracing for reprimands. Kapriel was experiencing an odd mix of excitement, pleasure, and embarrassment. Because his brother proved useful? Because he allowed him in?

  Keallach rose slowly and waited for Kapriel to do the same. “Is it a good plan then, brother?” he asked, reaching out an arm.

  Kapriel paused. “It’s a good plan,” he said, pausing for a telling moment before taking his arm. “I mean, if all the rest of the Ailith agree,” he added belatedly.

  But I knew what my brothers and sisters knew—as Niero knew—that we were destined to follow them, together. As they explained where the helicopters were—two on the broad face of the Citadel wall, one over by the entrance, shooting anything that moved—we agreed that we would once again have to find a way to take them down. I groaned, inwardly. Undoubtedly, that would involve encountering some pretty scary heights. I prayed my part could be played out with my feet on solid ground at all times.

  I needn’t have worried.

  We were heading out, our plan to begin with Kapriel taking down the helicopters by calling upon the wind again, when two bombs entered through two alcoves, one on either side of us. The force of their explosions sent me flying, and I rammed into a wall, my shoulder and temple hitting with such force that I couldn’t breathe for long moments after I opened my eyes and fought to see anything in the dust-filled cavern.

  The candles had been snuffed out with the explosion. The only light was the dim remains of the day, shining in streams from the alcoves. I could make out bodies. So many bodies.

  And then I felt the chill of my arm cuff. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

  Sheolites. Trackers, I amended in my mind, feeling the pinch of ice-cold that could only mean that dark ones on the level of Sethos and his companions approached.

  Some of our Knights were struggling to their feet. Ronan unsheathed his sword, alongside our trainer. Niero already stood, moving forward, a curved blade in either hand. Vidar and Bellona were still trying to rise.

  There were sounds of gunfire, but it seemed like it was from a great distance. Or as if I had mounds of gauze in my ears, plugging them up.

  “Dri,” Keallach said, pulling at my arm and lifting me. “Come on. We have to move.”

  I allowed him to help me, watching as Kapriel did the same with Chaza’el. There was more machine gunfire. The constant rat-a-tat-tat that sounded more like buh-uh-buh-buh now in my ears. The explosion, I understood dreamily. It had hurt my ears. Muffled them. And my head …

  “Ow!” Kapriel said as we passed him. He reached for his arm cuff just as I felt the wincing cold too. His wide eyes met mine.

  It was worse than it had been in the tunnels of Pacifica. I turned, fumbling for my sword and struggling with the sheath strap that held it in place. My fingers didn’t seem to work as terror seized me.

  “He’s coming,” I said to Kapriel.

  Keallach paused. “Who?”

  Without the arm cuff, he didn’t know what we knew. Our enemies had infiltrated the Citadel. They were here. And close. I was sure of it. “Sethos,” I said. “And other trackers.”

  Right then, we saw the light before us cut off repeatedly and heard new gunfire. An arrow shot past us, against the back wall, and splintered. Then another.

  “Ronan!” I cried, intending to go after him.

  “Dri!” Keallach grabbed hold of my shoulder, stepping before me, protecting me, and trying to see what was happening without putting himself in the line of fire. We heard the clang of swords. The grunts and muttered words of men in battle. My hearing was returning, but with it a terrible ringing … and an ache so fierce I fought the urge to sit down and cradle my head between my hands.

  Keallach stiffened, and he hurriedly grabbed my elbow, turning me in the other direction as he reached for his brother. “This way!” he cried. Vidar and Bellona were beside us. I looked over my shoulder for Ronan and began to pull back to wait for him when I saw what had alarmed Keallach. Two figures in red cloaks exited the first alcove tunnel, following four Sheolite scouts who glanced down at the devices in their hands and looked our way. I recognized one of the tall figures as a tracker from the Pacifica tunnels. The other was clearly of similar stature. How had they gotten past Ronan and our trainer? Niero?

  We all drew our swords. Vidar pulled out his guns and began firing, but both trackers pulled shields from their backs, which seemed to repel his bullets, and continued their advance. Behind them now, the four Sheolites followed.

  Kapriel and Keallach moved out together, attacking with such efficiency that it again struck me that they were exactly where they belonged. Together, they were stronger than any of us, even paired with our Knights. Together, they pressed back one tracker until he fell to his back, then they quickly dispatched the second. Keallach sliced him across the belly, and when he bent, Kapriel took off his head.

  I gaped
at them.

  But they weren’t done. They circled the first tracker, who had leaped to his feet in a spookily inhuman move and now had a sword in both hands. His eyes shifted back and forth, waiting for one or both of them to make a move. Bellona and Vidar had taken on the four scouts, and I knew Chaza’el and I had to come to their aid. But I was still fuzzy-headed, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, and overwhelmed by the incessant cold radiating from my arm cuff …

  Incessant cold.

  “Andriana,” Chaza’el whispered, turning to me with eyes wide, pupils dilated. He grabbed hold of my hand and yanked me downward, just as a sword came past that would have cut me in two. Chaza’el rammed his dagger into Sethos’s calf and reached up to meet the other tracker mid-tackle. They rolled across the floor, Chaza’el half the tracker’s size—yet still somehow ending up on top. He sprang away, tossing another dagger with deadly accuracy, which the tracker only narrowly caught before it pierced his neck. The tracker advanced on him again.

  My eyes tore back to Sethos, and I chastised myself that I hadn’t been watching the viper all the while. My head truly wasn’t quite right. He spat blood and wiped his lips with a gloved hand, narrowing his gaze at me. I looked away before our eyes locked, aware that he used that connection to somehow gain entrance to my mind and heart. Maker, give me strength, I prayed, unsheathing my sword at last and preparing to meet his advance. I knew he was far stronger, but the One who had made me was stronger yet.

  His first strike made my whole body feel like it was ringing in response. But he didn’t stop there. Again and again, he struck, and clearly knew as well as I did that, with each blow, I weakened. I gave up one foothold after another, my desperation growing at the same pace as his glee.

  This was not a man who wished to preserve me for his emperor.

  This was a dark angel who wished me disposed of, before I destroyed everything he’d built.

  When I felt the cool stone at my back, I lifted my sword to block his next strike. He pressed his own sword downward, and our blades got closer and closer to my neck. The metallic slide sent shivers down my arms. “You,” he hissed, “have caused me much trial. You have threatened all I’ve worked for.” Then he pressed inward, and with a wave of fear, I knew he intended to slice my throat with my own blade.